


Matchbook

by kirakirababy



Category: Alice Nine, the GazettE
Genre: Cheating, Drabble, Drama, Ex Sex, Gay, Gay Sex, Infidelity, M/M, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4371509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirakirababy/pseuds/kirakirababy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything within a matchbook is designed for its own destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchbook

Covered in chemical red moonbeams and a crumpled cotton blanket.  
I am reminded by every slow, squeaking rotation of the ceiling fan  
and every sleep-heavy breath  
that there are a million ways to hurt  
and, in the end, you are still my favorite ache.  
Self-destruction is a suffocating kind of heat.  
  
And as you take my lack of control and swallow it whole  
_I wonder if you woke up this morning in his bed,_  
_fed his cat,_  
_asked for a ride to the train station, and_  
_kissed him goodbye._  
Your body moves languidly above mine and you sigh softly against my lips, scratch your fingernails along my skin from armpit to hip, slip your tongue into my mouth and pretend that you're trying your best to make me forget.  
_That he has so much faith in you._  
I can feel it in your fingertips,  
in your quivering stomach  
and slick thighs.  
You tell me softly that you love me.  
_And I think about the time I saw you in the supermarket_  
_holding hands and picking out onions_  
_carrots_  
_and beef_  
_for a home-cooked curry._  
You let your head fall back and whisper my name into the spinning air beneath the fan, and plead for more with every press of your hips to mine and every consonant and vowel torn from your lips.  
_And I remember when you said there was nothing left between us._  
_It was snowing outside_  
_and, despite the sharp smell of burning dust from the overheating space heater at our feet,_  
_you were shivering._  
_I kissed the sweat from your forehead and told you I was sorry._  
_But it somehow felt right that you should be the one to break my heart._  
My hands slide flatly against your arched back, stretching the skin beneath my palms, and you gasp as the stars come alive beneath your eyelids.  
_And I reminisce about the way I watched you leave together._  
_You told me later you puked on his designer shoes_  
_and he laughed and wore a hole in his dress socks on the walk home._  
_Supporting your weight on his bad shoulder._  
Pressed against my body, one hand in my hair,  
the other on my stomach,  
your teeth mark my skin  
and I allow it.  
_And how could I look at you in anger_  
_the first time you asked me to fuck you_  
_'as a tribute to our past.'_  
_You were simply_  
_collecting old memories like matchbooks._  
_Phillumenists aren't afraid of the flame inherent in their hobby._  
  
I watch from the bed as you wash your face and comb your hair.  
You float to the window and take a deep drag from a borrowed cigarette.  
Standing barefoot and shirtless, silhouetted by the wispy light of morning,  
you crack the bones of your toes against the cool carpet and exhale through your nose.  
Slipping on your shoes, you meet my eyes over the steaming cup of coffee in my hands  
and I can almost imagine you asking me for a ride to the station  
and the goodbye kiss that never comes.  
  
_Everything within a matchbook is designed for its own destruction._

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at:  
> http://sciencesaves.livejournal.com/25834.html


End file.
